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10 avr. 2016

"I made most
of this myself,” he says, sounding more excited than I’ve ever heard him. “I
tried to reproduce everything as accurately as I could. You know, I would have
loved to have the ‘real thing’, and though I’ve managed to smuggle a few small
items over the Raedes, transporting stuff over here can be…a little tricky,” he
confesses.

Both his breath against my cheek and his
endearing enthusiasm would have had a powerful effect on me, if I weren’t so
busy gawking at this… this… eerily realistic replica of a human apartment.

Here we are, after what’s felt like weeks of
basking in the Aelfric supernatural, standing at Peter’s ‘front door’, on top
of a majestic set of white marble stairs, overlooking what could only be
described as a colossal city loft. At first glance, it comes off as a long,
outright rectangular, windowless space, with a chaotic mix of every style of
interior design there is. For a Harry Potter fan, this is just the kind of
secret room you would conjure out of a wall, and store everything that’s dear
to you in it.

It starts off with a living-room-like corner,
furnished with a lonely, single grey sofa which looks like it’s been bought
from a twentieth-century online catalogue, and plenty of fluffy, colourful
cushions here and there. Everything here must have been designed for one… Next
to the sofa is a massive, rustic chimney that’s probably never been lit. And on
the stone mantelpiece, a thin ivory vase with etched tribal motifs bearing a
bouquet of the most beautiful green roses, as well as one less glamorous item:
an opaque tray containing – wait, are those… eyeglasses? There’s a whole bunch
of them there, disposed loosely in the tray.

Why
does this still shock me? After all, I mustn’t forget: my boyfriend is a fake.
Even I don’t know what he really looks like, were it not for that fleeting
image I saw in Sam’s threads. And although I’m sure Peter fancies himself the
Elven Clark Kent, I know that if the glasses worked on me, they surely must
have worked on others of my kind… But I digress.I focus back on the apartment, and notice that, in order to
separate the different areas, Peter’s disposed several, beautiful folding
screens of pastel colours, which add an airy feel to the whole thing. Could it
be Sam’s influence to have these, instead of walls? Hmm… I wonder if she’s ever
been here. Or, even more, if he’d ever brought her to Pi’s. I quickly shake my
head to cast such thoughts out. Not sure I want to get into them right now, so
I bring my attention back to the apartment.

The
first screen I see bears extremely elegant drawings of male and female
Aelfrics, clad in traditional Asian costumes and performing daily chores under
pink cherry trees in bloom. I know he could draw portraits of inhuman accuracy
and realism, but here it’s obvious he’d wanted them more stylized than
anything, which must have been quite the out-of-character challenge for him.

Further into the apartment, I notice a varnished
Art-Deco buffet filled with delicate china that looks more decorative than
adapted for any form of eating or drinking; a regal, Medieval-looking round
table with a unique high wooden chair; a drawing table like the ones architects
use, but minus all the adjustment nobs and screws; a tiny silver fountain – not
a basin; an actual bird fountain, like the ones you see in the park, or a
smaller version of the one in Tom Hank’s living room in Splash; and an intriguingly shut, Baroque ebony closet that’s wider
and higher than any I’ve ever seen.

The walls – yes, plain, good old fashioned walls
– are simple and off-white, which only helps increase the contrast with the
dozens – or is it hundreds? – of framed drawings, all with white strokes over a
black canvas, hanging from floor to ceiling. Are all of these his?! A vast
majority look like portraits, which is far from surprising. Though… who are
they of? This would require a closer look, but I’m almost sure the subjects
aren’t all Aelfric.

And the ceiling…What in the…! It’s so bright and warm that
it takes me a few seconds to be able to look up at it and figure out what it’s
actually made of, with its beautiful, recognizable green hue.

“Is this, erm, a whole ceiling of your Lumes?!”

“You can already distinguish my Lume?” he smiles. “Yes,
these are all my mine. A million, nine hundred and seventeen of them to be
exact.”

“But… why so many? Is it just because you like it bright
in here?”

He plants a soft kiss right under my ear, then reluctantly
leaves my shoulders for my hand, dragging me deeper into the apartment. My bare
feet quickly recognize the beautiful feeling of walking on warm carpets –
Oriental, by their divinely ornate aspect.

“I do like it bright in here, and despite my knowing
everything there is to know about Energy, I must admit I could never really
re-create electricity! And that’s just driving me crazy! You, however, know me
better,” he smirks, “You know I wouldn’t make over a million Lumes just for
their glow now, would I? So, any other theories, Miss Brandt?” he challenges
playfully.

“Well… Lumes normally carry a message. Maybe you’ve
generated messages that you just ended up keeping to yourself?”

“A million, nine-hundred and seventeen hesitations? That’s
an awful lot, even for me. Think harder,” he teases. “You, of all people,
should be able to figure it out.”

He nods with a widening grin, and heads for the massive
baroque closet. Once in front of it, he stops me to build up some more on the
frustrating suspense.

“As I said, during my missions, I’ve managed to sneak a
few small things through from the Gardens. Yours, specifically. Small bits and
pieces I’ve had to get gradually, and to reassemble on this end. Things that
need electricity, unfortunately, so I’ve had to get that too, somehow…”

As he says these last few words, I hear the two heavy
ebony doors creak and scrape as they open up to reveal another breath-taking
collection that’s probably also in the millions.

“Woah!! Are these…CD’s?!”

“And cassettes, yes. And this is the jewel of my
collection,” he says as he points to a locked rectangular case on the middle
shelf. He then proceeds to opening it, and I hold my breath, although I have an
inkling as to what it might be.

I grin as soon as I get confirmation: inside the case is a
sort of Nineties design, silver stereo, a bit scratched in a few places, and
possibly missing a couple of pieces, as some cables are visible on the sides.
It’s got a double cassette deck, and a disc player on top, just like those Erik
had, back in the day. But what really gets me giggling is what’s right next to
the stereo.

“Hahaha! Don’t tell me this is a car battery!”

“Hey, no mocking!! It took me five Raedes and a fair
amount of lying to get this!” he huffs, half-seriously miffed.

“Sorry, I really don’t mean to mock any of this!” I say
genuinely, wiping the last, lingering tear off my cheek. “This is just so…
Human, and I miss it.”

He tilts his head for a second, then takes a step forward
and delicately puts his arms around me. I gladly snuggle up against his bare
chest, which suddenly makes me more aware of the fact that I have a cover around
me, and he doesn’t.

“Does it work, this homemade radio of yours?” I ask,
hoping for a distraction.

“Of course it works!” he throws, slightly offended. “So…
have you guessed what the Lumes are for then?”

Hold on. If he’s mentioning this in the same conversation
as the radio, there must be a connection. I pull my cheek off his chest for a
second, and it suddenly hits me. “Oh God!! The messages you’d rather keep to
yourself… they’re songs, aren’t they?”

He smiles and gives me a very quick, proud peck.

“Yes, Ma’am. Before I actually came up with my smuggling
plans, and as I was toying with the idea of how to rebuild a radio without
tools and without electricity, I actually captured some Garden songs I liked
inside my Lumes, and brought them back home with me. But the sad thing is, I
could only listen to these songs once after that, as the Lume would be
consumed. It was too frustrating and ephemeral for me, and I needed the option
of unlimited listening. Well, relatively, as the battery is bound to die on me
someday soon,” he frowns.

I listen to him with an endeared grin, as he reminds me of
the Muggle-obsessed Weasley dad from Harry Potter. I don’t even have the heart
to suggest he smuggle some blank cassettes, push the Lume into his forehead and
hit Record on the radio. Wouldn’t want to point out how, in spite of all this,
he doesn’t have many Human reflexes. Or maybe he’s that picky on audio quality?
Either way, I really feel like hugging him right now.

“Does Nirav know you’ve been using him to sneak these in?”
I joke, but quickly regret it as I see a fleeting dark look in his eyes. He
really, really doesn’t like talking about him, does he? “Nevermind that; tell
me,” I swiftly change the subject, “What’s on those CD’s?”

“No, you deserve better than the CD experience. Here,” he
suddenly kneels down, and carries me at the waist, lifting me up closer to the
ceiling. “Reach out and pick one Lume, any one.”

“No, wait!” I protest, “If I listen to it, it would be
gone forever, or at least until you’re on a mission again, wouldn’t it? I don’t
__”

At that moment, a gut-wrenching idea hits me: after
Danielle’s through with us, would Peter still be allowed on any of those
missions?... And if not, how would I ever see him again if I, you know, manage
not to get executed, then find a clever way to escape an entire species that
would try to stop me, and end up going back home, somehow?

“It’s worth it though. You’re worth it. Come on, I’m
curious to know which one you will pick…”

I put one palm on his cheek and smile, and reach up with
the other. I then push the randomly chosen Lume into my forehead and wince.
Geez, I’ll never get used to how unpleasant that feels at first; but I wouldn’t
want to listen to the song alone.

It starts off with a very soft guitar intro, followed by a
few notes on an accordion.

“Well, what do you know!” Peter whispers as he slips a
hand to the small of my back and starts swaying gently. “You picked an English singer
living in Paris. How convenient,” he winks.

Then the first lyrics go, Greener than blue…, and I already know I love it. I put my cheek
back against his soft chest and close my eyes. This is so much better than Pi’s
Space… No gooey aphrodisiacs and creepy arousal Talents… Just the two of us,
hidden in a place that is most probably unknown to anyone else – except perhaps
Sam… – hugging and painfully aware that we can’t do that whenever we wish,
outside this Space. My mind then wanders off to what awaits us next, and panic
when I realize that we might be reaching Danielle’s soon, if not next…!

What?!...
No!... I’m not ready!!!

Oh God… What will happen to us? To me? Will our cover
story hold against the Queen whom no Aelfric can lie to? Will the Elders
Council give us a chance to defend our case at all? Or will we watch them,
powerless, as they issue the worst of sentences against our alleged treason?
And will Nirav just sit there with them, coldly deciding our Fate?

“Is this the last Space, before…?” I’m not sure how to
complete this sentence.

Greener than you, the song goes again.

We stare at each other, and realize that in the worst of
cases, these might be our last moments together.

Next thing I know, we’re kissing so hard it hurts, and
holding each other so tight, as if desperate not to have anything separate us.
Each of our kisses is a plea, and they’re just not enough. We almost fall to
the ground, in our urge to melt into the other, and stay there for as long as
we possibly can.

In the midst of this crazed outburst, I feel Peter pulling
me even further into the apartment. He then tears the cover off of my shoulders
without the least bit of delicacy, and stops for a breathless second to ask me,
“I would like to look at you, and touch you now. Would that be okay?”

I’d thought we were actually past that, but I do
appreciate the, erm, “tact”. I take a step forward, and make sure every inch of
me is feeling his body heat. He inhales sharply, and opens his mouth to say
something, but no words come out. He then encircles me with his arms and pulls
me as close as his strength allows, and I sense us both falling sideways.

We land on what feels like a bed of warm nursery cotton,
and I sigh. The sound somehow pushes him over the edge, and his fingers start
exploring, skilfully and passionately, every bit of me. I’m suddenly
self-conscious: this man has probably had a very, very long time to practice
this – and only this – whereas I’ve had nothing but extremely awkward human
experiences with it, which normally ended up in both physical and emotional
pain. I have nothing much to offer him, do I?

“Hush,” he says between two kisses.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re thinking so hard I can almost hear it! And
besides, some muscles under that beautiful skin of yours contract when you do.
So hush, it’s my first time making love, and I need to focus,” he teases.

“Your first t… – Right!” I snort.

He stops and looks me straight in the eye. “You should
listen better. I didn’t say I was a virgin. I said it was my first time making love. As far as I know, the
nuance exists in your world too, doesn’t it? Now, may I?” he asks with an
insolently polite smile.

“My apologies,” I almost blush, and laugh nervously as his
hands go on making my every skin cell combust. Then, one providential realization
ends up putting some of my insecurities to rest: in the midst of all this
passion, I suddenly grasp an innocent undertone there…. It’s as if every touch,
every stroke, every kiss he gives me, were like a romanticized gesture straight
out of a teen Rom-Com. This isn’t to say that it is cheesy, but rather, that it
stems from a total idealization of what making love is really like. He must
have fantasized about it several times, and was too receptive to how them
earthly movies portray it. This puts me at ease with my equally lacking
knowledge of… anything sexual really. It’s also sort of…empowering. And I suppose what makes me
let go completely, is the pleasant thought that if the waterfall is soundless
on the outside, it could only mean that no sounds made here, however loud,
would ever leave the apartment.

-------------------------------------------------------

The first thought I get, upon opening my eyes,
is: it’s nice to finally be sleeping by choice and not by passing out, for
once. But… do Aelfrics sleep at all? I haven’t seen any of them do it, so why
do I?

I try to ponder on this, though I’m quickly
distracted by the mere thought of what I’ve – what we’ve just done. I hear
myself exhale, lengthily. I’ve never been kissed, or held, or touched like this
before. I’ve never felt so…quenched, and so unburdened by my abnormality.
There’s no soreness, no shame, and no never-agains to speak of. Just a feeling
of blush-inducing bliss, and frankly, some achy joints.

I flex all the muscles I can still feel, as my
hand reaches for Peter’s, but it’s nowhere to be found.

I sit up, confused. I’m sure he hasn’t left me
here, but couldn’t he have stuck around for a “morning” cuddle or something? …
That’s a must in Rom-Coms, isn’t it? Also, incidentally, there isn’t much I
personally wouldn’t do to stay here, in this bed, all curled up against him,
and delay our royal encounter indefinitely.

My feet touch the vibrating ground, and I get
the same shiver I had the first time, in the brooding bubble. The bed is twice
as big as any king-sized one I’ve seen, and twice as comfy. It even has a
specific, homey, ‘jasminy’ smell Peter must have worked on. The rest of the
room is just as chaotically decorated as the rest of the place: the wall behind
the bed is completely covered with a heavy, dark blue curtain, embroidered with
hundreds of tiny silver stars. And on the opposite end, separating this
bedroom-like area from the remainder of the apartment, is another folding
screen, decorated with a lovely ink wash painting of a lilac-coloured rising
sun. On the side, a single, large sliding door looks like it would open to a
huge closet. I stare at it with a hesitant yet mischievous smile. Would it
really be considered indiscreet of me to have a quick look inside, and see just
how Human Peter’s wardrobe gets?

I decide that he would require a lot more to
genuinely be mad at me, so I delicately reach out and slide the door open.

Woah… this is definitely no wardrobe!

The initial shock is in the sheer size of this…
this hall-like space-within-a-space. It’s like stepping straight into a
historical library. The lights here are dim, and seem to be coming from
hundreds of fireless candles disposed almost everywhere, and casting a tiny,
yellow light, enough not to plunge one in total obscurity. It takes a
considerable amount of squinting, as I look up, to notice the massive, dark
stone arched domes above. The rest is nothing but thousands, or maybe millions
of small wooden shelves, and parchment. Scrolls: rolled, folded, hung, laid
carelessly or disposed decoratively… as far the eye can see.

I take a few steps forward, and feel really
conscious of the total, heavy silence. Even my breathing seems to disturb the thick
air. I try to inhale more softly as a strange feeling of doing something wrong
starts creeping in on me. Maybe I shouldn’t be here.

And yet, some morbid fascination keeps me
going, delving deeper into this murky hall-like drawing shrine, where every
paper appears to have its designated chapel-like space. I’ve never thought of
how awe-inspiring it is to be in the midst of so many works of art, on
something as ephemeral as paper. I should perhaps go to the library more often.

The second shock comes from a sudden and strange
compulsion I get to concentrate on one particular row of drawings, disposed
vertically to the right, under an overcast archway. Perhaps they’re just too
delicate or precious to roll up and slip onto a shelf, but I suspect it’s also
because of that compelling Energy they seem to have. The mere sight of them
automatically ignites my Super Senses, even before I’ve figured out what they
actually represent.

My Super Senses have become the most reliable way for me
to realize how nervous I am. But it’s also a rush suddenly feeling and
comprehending ever speck of Energy around me. Whatever this Talent of mine is,
I wonder how I could possibly utilize it. For now, all it’s showing me is the
lack of dust in such a space, when it would be full of it back on Earth, as
well as this silence not really being…silent. It is heavy for sure, enough to
make my ears ring, but there’s something behind it, something faint that I
couldn’t possibly perceive without the aroused perception. It sounds like a
soft rustling of tissue and metal, and it seems like it’s coming from the same
room, although I can see no one else there. It starts to freak me out, so I
focus back on that intriguing row of hung portraits, and try to figure out why
it felt so chilling even before I’ve had a closer look.

I step forward and try to make sense of the first drawing.
It’s not exactly a full portrait, but rather a fragment of a cheek, with an ear
and some locks of hair. It’s like Peter has chosen not to focus on the entire
face. It’s beautiful, and yet, something is repelling about that ear. It’s
perfectly drawn, though at the center of it, the black hole is not quite right.
I try to screw my eyes and figure out why. However, the more I look at the
spiralling hole, the less easily I can breathe. The ringing in my ears gets
louder, so much so that I shake my head and gather all my strength to look
away. If I didn’t know any better, I would say these drawings have a much more
powerful… magic than all the others in this room.

My morbid curiosity takes over again, and I find myself
masochistically looking back under the archway, and reaching out to the reveal
the second drawing in the row. It’s also an incomplete one of a nose arch, an
eye staring straight at me, and to the left, a horrible, horrible gashing scar.
I inhale sharply and take a step back. What the…?! Why would Peter even draw
such a thing? This new surge of emotions only increases the eerie senses, and I
hear what was first a soft rustle become a very clear scraping and scratching.
I look around, alarmed, and still see nothing but inanimate drawings. I really
need to get out of here.

And yet… maybe one more drawing, just to prove how fucked
up I really am. I reach out and move much further in the line, to the very last
of those drawings. And boy, do I really wish I hadn’t.

A pair of eyes. That’s all there was. A pair of savagely
mutilated, gorily gouged eyes, which instantly give me a violent shock. So much
so that it only takes a second of looking at them for me to just… unravel. Has
Peter really done this to someone? And why do these pupil-less eyes seem like
they’re perfectly capable of sight? Why are they looking at me as if they know
me? The effect of their icy stare is such that what I’ve so far called my Super
Senses go on wild overdrive, and what’s always triggered them, that feeling of
panic, becomes the complete opposite: my thinking brain shuts down, and I am
all Senses and Perception.

The low, ruffling sound I heard before turns into the main
ambient noise, and as I twist around to find its source, I clearly see a
luminous silhouette standing only a few meters away. A silhouette I now know
well, with its bulky armour and its pointy helmet.

A Sentinel!

The instant I look at him, he seems to swerve towards me,
but doesn’t appear to really see me. I can’t make out his features, but his
thin silhouette glows brighter by the second. Is he in another dimension? Or… a
pocket room, like what Vlad has in the Mausoleum! He’s right there in front of
me, but in a hidden chamber. And I can see
him, through the optical illusion.

I stare, and my unbearable terror is muted by the absence
of my thinking brain. The thought of the Mausoleum reminds of the very first
“trick” I did when I stepped out of the Brooding Bubble, with the vibrating
ground. And just like that, I feel myself gradually lifting off and floating as
I did with Dem, and with the blood thirst of a predator, I pounce towards the
ground and imbed my fist in its strange matter.

A shattering shock-wave unfurls towards the Sentinel, who
literally flies backwards, lands with a bang, and his heads pops up to look
straight at me.

I know I haven’t neutralized him, and that it would take
him a couple of seconds to overcome his surprise and step out of the pocket
room to come after me, so I run like hell.

I run back to the closet-like door, into the bedroom, past
the folding screen, then through the cluttered apartment. Peter is nowhere to
be seen, and I’m too deep in my supernatural trance to worry about that. I just
fly to the main door. I mean I actually run so fast that my feet take off and
I’m lithely gliding through the air, but my brain doesn’t find it strange. I
can already hear the Sentinel approaching fast, and I reluctantly stop at the
door, wondering what it would take to open it. No knob, no mechanism, just a
plain white door.

Oh what the hell…

I just aim and punch it, hoping the same ripple would
happen with anything other than the ground. And it works. The door undulates
and simply pops into dozens of smaller fragments, and I’m suddenly back in the
cave. The waterfall is painfully loud, but I can still hear the Sentinel’s
footsteps behind me.

He then screams out, “Lily! Stop!”

The voice alone breaks my flight, and my breath hitches in my
throat. I turn around and see the armour, the tree on
its chest, the helmet with the two leaves… all worn by none other than
Peter.